PEGGY. In my heart.

As Manderson takes her she throws bag in the air—Miss A., the Major and Jerry shriek and cling to one another. Search enters, center, and comes forward. Bell heard ringing. SEARCH. Don't move, any of you. The country is aroused, I have telegraphed everywhere. This entire room is under arrest. You are the desperate gang of conspirators in the dynamite plot the detectives have discovered in Russia. You (to the Major) are the ringleader. You (to Dick) have evidently just arrived from Russia with that grip. By your own confession it is filled with dynamite,—a hundred infernal machines. From motives of jealousy you (to Peggy) would destroy the rest of the gang

DICK. With this harmless satchel (opening bag and turning out letters)! dynamite, the hundred infernal machines! NANCY. My letters to Dick.

SEARCH. Letters, and no dynamite! Let me go telegraph and stop the detectives. You villain (to Jerry)! you've taken my money under false pretenses. You're all frauds! (Exit center. Bell rings, as of train approaching.)

JERRY. Tin o'clock train! All aboord !—all aboord! I'm agoin' to knock him down for callin' me a villain. Tin o' clock train! all aboord! (Exit, center, with broom as a club.)

NANCY (putting letters in satchel and handing it to Dick). May every bag of dynamite

DICK (handing it to Peggy). Have so much pleasure in it! PEGGY (handing to Manderson). May every woman's jealous spite

MAN. (handing to Miss A.) Have just such men to win it. MISS A. (handing to Major.) May every woman's letters be, MAJOR (handing to Dick). When rage runs wild, the curb

to stop it.

DICK (handing to Peggy).

And when we feel like jealousy,

ALL (as Peggy drops the satchel). Drop it!

JERRY (entering excitedly, advancing to front and brandishing

broom). The last train's off, and I hit him over the gob.

Curtain.

THE THREE PREACHERS.-CHARLES MACKAY.

There are three preachers, ever preaching,
Filled with eloquence and power:
One is old, with locks of white,

Skinny as an anchorite;

And he preaches every hour
With a shrill fanatic voice,

And a bigot's fiery scorn:

“Backward! ye presumptuous nations;
Man to misery is born!

Born to drudge, and sweat, and suffer,
Born to labor and to pray;
Backward, ye presumptuous nations!
Back! be humble and obey.

The second is a milder preacher;
Soft he talks as if he sung;
Sleek and slothful is his look,
And his words, as from a book,
Issue glibly from his tongue.
With an air of self-content,

High he lifts his fair white hands:
"Stand ye still! ye restless nations;
And be happy, all ye lands!
Fate is law, and law is perfect;
If ye meddle, ye will mar;
Change is rash, and ever was so,
We are happy as we are."

Mightier is the younger preacher,
Genius flashes from his eyes;
And the crowds who hear his voice,
Give him, while their souls rejoice,
Throbbing bosoms for replies.
Awed they listen, yet elated,

While his stirring accents fall:
"Forward! ye deluded nations,
Progress is the rule of all.

Man was made for healthful effort;
Tyranny has crushed him long;
He shall march from good to better,
And do battle with the wrong.

Standing still is childish folly
Going back ward is a crime.

None should patiently endure
Any ill that he can cure;

Onward! keep the march of time.
Onward! while a wrong remains
To be conquered by the right;
While oppression lifts a finger
To affront us by his might;
While an error clouds the reason
Of the universal heart,
Or a slave awaits his freedom,
Action is the wise man's part.

"Lo! the world is rich in blessings:
Earth and ocean, flame and wind,
Have unnumbered secrets still,
To be ransacked when you will,
For the service of mankind.
Science is a child as yet,

And her power and scope shall grow,
And her triumphs in the future

Shall diminish toil and woe;
Shall extend the bounds of pleasure
With an ever-widening ken,
And of woods and wildernesses

Make the homes of happy men.

"Onward! there are ills to conquer,
Daily wickedness is wrought,
Tyranny is swoln with pride,
Bigotry is deified,

Error intertwined with thought.
Vice and misery ramp and crawl;
Root them out, their day has passed,
Goodness is alone immortal;

Evil was not made to last.

Onward! and all earth shall aid us
Ere our peaceful flag be furled.”
And the preaching of this preacher
Stirs the pulses of the world.

A LITTLE PILGRIM.

One summer's evening ere the sun went down,
When city men were hastening from the town,
To reach their homes-some near at hand, some far,
By snorting train, by omnibus or car.

To be beyond the reach of city's din-
A tram-car stopped, a little girl got in;
A cheery looking girl, scarce four years old;
Although not shy, her manners were not bold:
But all alone! one scarce could understand.
She held a little bundle in her hand,-
A tiny handkerchief with corners tied,
But which did not some bread and butter hide;
A satin scarf, so natty and so neat,

Was o'er her shoulders thrown. She took a seat,
And laid her bundle underneath her arm,
And smiling prettily, but yet so calm,
She to the porter said, "May I lie here?"
He answered instantly, "Oh yes, my dear."
And there she seemed inclined to make her stay,
While once again the tram went on its way.

The tall conductor-over six feet high,
Now scanned the travelers with a business eye;
But in that eye was something kind and mi'd
That took the notice of the little child.
A little after and the man went round,
And soon was heard the old familiar sound
Of gathering pence, and clipping tickets, too-
The tram was full, and he had much to do.
"Your fare, my little girl," at length he said.
She looked a moment, shook her little head:
"I have no pennies; don't you know," said she,
"My fare is paid, and Jesus paid for mu?"
He looked bewildered - all the people smiled;
"I didn't know. And who is Jesus, child?"

'Why don't you know? He once for sinners died For little children, and for men beside,

To make us good, and wash us from our sin,

Is this His railway I am traveling in?"

"Don't think it is! I want your fare, you know." "I told you Jesus paid it long ago:

My mother told me just before she died,
That Jesus paid when he was crucified;
That at the cross his railway did begin,
Which took poor sinners from a world of sin.
My mother said his home was grand and fair;
I want to go and see my mother there,
I want to go to heaven where Jesus lives-
Won't you go, too? My mother said he gives

A loving welcome-shall we not be late?
Oh, let us go before he shuts the gate!
He bias us little children come to him."
The poor conductor's eyes felt rather dim,
He knew not why-he fumbled at his coat,
And felt a substance rising in his throat.
The people listened to the little child;
Some were in tears-the roughest only smiled,
And some one whispered as they looked amazed:
"Out of the mouth of babes the Lord is praised."

"I am a pilgrim," said the little thing;
"I'm going to heaven. My mother used to sing
To me of Jesus and his Father's love;
Told me to meet her in his home above,
And so to-day when aunt went out to tea;
And looking out I could not father see,
I got my bundle, kissed my little kit,
(I am so hungry-won't you have a bit?)
And got my hat, and then I left my home,
A little pilgrim up to heaven to roam;
And then your carriage stopped, and I could see
You looked so kind. I saw you beckon me,
I thought you must belong to Jesus' train.
And are you just going home to heaven again?”
The poor conductor only shook his head;
Tears in his eyes-the power of speech had fled.
Had conscience by her prattle roused his fears,
And struck upon the fountain of his tears,
And made his thoughts in sad confusion whirl?
At last he said, "Once I'd a little girl:

I loved her much; she was my little pet,
And with great fondness I remember yet

How much she loved me. But one day she died.*
She's gone to heaven," the little girl replied;
"She's gone to heaven-Jesus paid her fare.
Oh, dear conductor, won't you meet her there?"

The poor conductor now broke fairly down;

He could have borne the harshest look or frown.
But no one laughed; the many sitting by
Beheld the scene with sympathetic eye.

He kissed the child, for she his heart had won.
"I am so sleepy," said the little one,

"If you will let me, I'll lie here and wait

Until your carriage comes to Jesus' gate;